ld not have shaken hands with me with a
pair of tongs while on the passage from the United States, could come
with hat in hand in Paris, and say, "I was your fellow-passenger." From
the Salle de St. Cecile, I visited the Column Vendome, from the top of
which I obtained a fine view of Paris and its environs. This is the
Bunker Hill Monument of Paris. On the top of this pillar is a statue of
the Emperor Napoleon, eleven feet high. The monument is built with
stone, and the outside covered with a metallic composition, made of
cannons, guns, spikes, and other warlike implements taken from the
Russians and Austrians by Napoleon. Above 1200 cannons were melted down
to help to create this monument of folly, to commemorate the success of
the French arms in the German Campaign. The column is in imitation of
the Trajan pillar at Rome, and is twelve feet in diameter at the base.
The door at the bottom of the pillar, and where we entered, was
decorated above with crowns of oak, surmounted by eagles, each weighing
500 lbs. The bas-relief of the shaft pursues a spiral direction to the
capitol, and displays, in a chronological order, the principal actions
of the French army, from the departure of the troops from Boulogne to
the battle of Austerlitz. The figures are near three feet high, and
their number said to be two thousand. This sumptuous monument stands on
a plinth of polished granite, surmounted by an iron railing; and, from
its size and position, has an imposing appearance when seen from any
part of the city.

Everything here appears strange and peculiar--the people not less so
than their speech. The horses, carriages, furniture, dress, and manners,
are in keeping with their language. The appearance of the labourers in
caps, resembling nightcaps, seemed particularly strange to me. The women
without bonnets, and their caps turned the right side behind, had
nothing of the look of our American women. The prettiest woman I ever
saw was without a bonnet, walking on the Boulevards. While in Ireland,
and during the few days I was in England, I was struck with the marked
difference between the appearance of the women from those of my own
country. The American women are too tall, too sallow, and too
long-featured to be called pretty. This is most probably owing to the
fact that in America the people come to maturity earlier than in most
other countries.

My first night in Paris was spent with interest. No place can present
greater stre